


Rumlow: Strong, Independent Beta

by WhiteCeilings



Series: Rumlow And The Search For Fulfillment [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Brock Rumlow, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Dom Brock Rumlow, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Mexico, Multi, Omega Bucky Barnes, Polyamory, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Bucky Barnes, Summer Vacation, Switching, Threesome - M/M/M, Vacation, good guy Rumlow, sub Brock Rumlow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCeilings/pseuds/WhiteCeilings
Summary: For their one-year anniversary, Steve takes his partners to a resort in Cancun to relax. But when faced with the challenge of being seen as a beta in a three-way relationship, it may be too much for Rumlow to bear.Sequel to "Rumlow Doesn't Care (And Other Lies He Tells Himself)", but can be read independently.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow, Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow
Series: Rumlow And The Search For Fulfillment [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808569
Comments: 35
Kudos: 107





	1. Rumlito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So look, I never planned on actually writing a sequel to this fic, but then it just kind of happened? Anyways, heres some disclaimers:
> 
> There aren't any triggers present that I'm currently aware of, besides maybe Rumlow feeling weird about the power dynamics in his relationship from time to time. This is a pretty natural part of relationships like this, though, and is not due to any abuse on Steve or Bucky's end. 
> 
> Additionally, this story takes place in Mexico, in a super touristy resort. Now, I've been to the resort this is based on, so that's moderately accurate, but I was also a little kid the last time I went, and I'm white. I did my best to be culturally sensitive, but if I missed something, let me know! My intentions are never to be racist, but there's always the possibility of something coming across the wrong way. 
> 
> With that said, enjoy the story!

Bucky sets off the metal detector, and every one of Rumlow’s nerves flares. He takes a step forward, ready to intervene, but a firm hand on his shoulder makes him hold back. 

“Let him handle it,” Steve instructs. 

Rumlow doesn’t want to, but he makes himself stand in place, watching the proceedings without getting involved. Bucky is moving a little too fast, jittery, and his eyes dart up to look at Steve and Rumlow— his partners, his alpha and beta, respectively. When the security officer talks, however, he looks back, and then opens his arms for the hand held detector to be waved over him. It’s fine for the entirety of his body until they get to the metal plate over his chest and subsequent metal arm, at which point the machine goes off again. 

“It’s a prosthetic,” Rumlow hears Bucky explain, quiet. He takes off his glove, shows the officer his metal hand stiffly. “From the war.” 

A minute later Steve is flagged down, and both him and Rumlow walk through one of the short gates to where Bucky is standing, looking just about ready to shit himself. Rumlow is immediately on his defense— though they usually flew in a quinjet on missions, there was the occasional time they had to use traditional transportation, and as his head handler Rumlow was in charge of making sure the operation went as smoothly as possible. 

He doesn’t get the opportunity to say anything, though, because before he can Steve is saying “Is there a problem, officer?”

“You’re his partner?” The officer says. He’s a dubious looking black man, and though he looked tall from a distance he is immediately dwarfed in the presence of Captain America.

“Partners,” Steve corrects, nodding to Rumlow. “I’m the alpha.”

The officer gives him a concerned once-over, like _yeah, I sure hope you are._ Meanwhile, Bucky is still looking like a third grader who got caught with an assault rifle in his lunch box, and Rumlow crosses his arms, baring his teeth almost subconsciously. 

“Does your partner have the paperwork to prove that this is a prosthetic?” The officer asks Steve. 

“No sir, but the arm is attached. Your department was notified of our visit earlier this week; mind checking your files?”

It throws the officer off, but he goes to his computer and starts looking. Steve watches with an eagle eye, as if he can see through the computer from behind. Without looking away, he snaps his fingers low, but Rumlow’s hip, but still sharply enough to immediately get his attention. “Down,” he orders, voice just about as quiet as it will go. “Hands behind you.”

Rumlow stops baring his teeth, and instead grits them as he ducks his head, putting his hands behind his back. It isn’t an unnatural pose, but his cheeks still burn with warmth at making a submissive pose in public. Normally Steve doesn’t make him do this— but then again, today isn’t a normal day. 

It’s their anniversary— or, rather, it will be in two days. By then they’ll be at a resort in Mexico, but first they have to get through the airport without being proclaimed terrorists or some shit. Steve’s been on moderately good terms with the American Government lately, so Rumlow has hope, but Steve’s also traveling with him, a chemically castrated former-literal domestic terrorist, and Bucky, an assassin wanted in more countries than Rumlow could care to count. Even Rumlow knows that Steve’s clout can only get them so far. 

Luckily, the officer finds the file he was looking for, and finally the three of them are gestured through. Steve and Rumlow get past the metal detectors no problem, and then finally they can reclaim their stuff at the end. 

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but when he sits on a bench to put his shoes back on, he sits so close to Rumlow he’s nearly on top of him. Rumlow puts his arm around him naturally, squeezing his hip. 

“Well, that was fun,” Steve says, already standing and looking around for the next challenge. “Buck, you good?”

“Fine,” Bucky rasps, and Steve’s jaw works, displeased. Rumlow is glad he’s not quick to violence, because otherwise Bucky would have _two_ violent partners, and the only thing currently keeping Rumlow from marching back to the officer and making a problem is Steve standing directly in his path. God, just imagine if he actually did that. Steve would drop him so hard— probably make him kneel in the middle of the floor, in front of everyone, and submit like a good pup. 

Before Rumlow can really work through his thoughts on the topic, Bucky kisses his cheek, bringing him back to reality. He cups Bucky’s head in his hand and brings him in for a real kiss, feeling the omega relax into him instantly, shoulders going loose and neck craning for a better angle. 

When they pull away, Steve is pointedly not watching, but the sly little smile on his lips tells him that Steve _was_ watching, probably for most of it. Steve pretends to give them privacy, but he’s way too into them both to be good at it. 

“Alright guys, let's get going. The plane won’t wait.”

  
  


—————————— 

  
  


It takes some time and effort navigating the airport and waiting to board, but finally they’re in line to get their tickets scanned. They load into the airplane single file, Rumlow then Bucky then Steve, and they’re flying Southwest so it’s up to them to pick their seats. Rumlow prowls ahead, looking for a grouping away from other people, but Steve calls him back a minute later when he sees a set he likes. He puts their carry-on bags in the overhead compartments and herds them into the seats, taking the aisle seat after them.

“My legs are just as long as yours,” Rumlow says petulantly, and Steve pats his thigh, mocking him without words. It’s not true; back before his castration, Rumlow was a little taller, but he still wasn’t Captain America tall. Now, most people on the street clock him as a beta, though he can pass for an alpha with enough teeth baring. 

Bucky stays quiet but present throughout the safety demonstration and announcements, then watches the plane takeoff through the window, but once they’re high enough into the clouds he closes his window and gets out his stuff. He planned to be stressed out by the plane ride, so Steve helped him get a set up that would help him relax, consisting of a neck pillow, an eye mask, and headphones pumping out soothing whale noises from his phone. If Rumlow leans close enough, he can make out the eerie whale calls, but unlike Bucky he doesn’t find them relaxing, so he tries to stay sitting normally. 

Steve digs around in his backpack, which he kept accessible, and pulls out a Men’s Health magazine. He doesn’t look at Rumlow as he asks, “You excited for the trip?”

Rumlow snorts without smiling. “When have you ever known me to be excited.”

“I don’t know,” he responds, placing his hand high up on Rumlow’s thigh without looking. Rumlow sucks in a breath, and reminds himself how much he _doesn’t_ want to have a hard on for the next 4 hours. “I feel like I’ve seen you excited plenty of times.”

Rumlow knocks his hand aside, taking in a shaky breath. “Bastard.”

Steve just hums, relocating his hand to the back of Rumlow’s neck, stroking it soothingly. It takes everything within Rumlow not to keen right then and there. Even so, his eyes roll back, and the quietest _“Alpha”_ emerges from between his lips. 

“Can I get your drink order?” A stewardess asks, and Rumlow jerks. 

“We’ll have a diet coke, a beer, and… do you have apple juice?” Steve says, taking over. 

“We do!”

“Then we’ll have that too. Thanks a ton.”

Rumlow waits until the stewardess is back a few rows to glare at Steve. “That was fucked up.”

But Steve, the bastard, has already gone back to his magazine. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

————————————

The plane ride is awful. Bucky pretends to sleep throughout the whole thing, only ‘waking’ when Steve nudges him with his juice box, and a Steve spends the entire 4 hours reading magazines. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so weird about it; Steve read practically every single section, including the advertisements, as if it was a novel instead of something to flip through in five minutes and be done with. Worse, he’d just grabbed whatever magazine looked interesting to him in the airport, leaving him with an assortment of everything from _Rolling Stones_ to _Better Homes and Gardens_. The cashier hadn’t even batted an eye, and Rumlow knew exactly why; she’d seen him and Bucky lurking in the back, and had assumed that the girly magazines were for them. Steve probably did it on purpose. 

As for Rumlow, he doesn’t do anything to entertain himself; he was a trained operative, he knows better. Instead he watches, logging every person he can see around them, and keeping an eye out for suspicious activity. The worst part? There _isn’t any_ , so he has absolutely nothing to do besides nurse his beer and sneak glances of celebrity kitchens in Steve’s magazines. At one point, Steve puts his hand on Rumlow’s mid-thigh and leaves it there for the rest of the flight. At another point, Bucky leans against him, resting his head on his shoulder. 

Rumlow hates it, and he hates his stupid goddamn partners. Hmmf. 

Bucky stops pretending to sleep once they land, and they all look through the little plane window at the airport. “Welcome to Mexico,” Steve says, grinning from ear to ear. 

“We’ve been in Mexico before,” Rumlow responds automatically, too busy trying to figure out if those palm trees are real to pay much attention to the conversation.

“A target ran here,” Bucky says in a daze. “Member of Russian Executive. He’d been working under the table with Hydra, but betrayed us. We tracked him here and shot him in his apartment, while he was on the shitter. A janitor saw me, had to kill him too. Collateral damage.” He makes a face.

Rumlow slaps his thigh lightly. “That was confidential.”

Bucky looks him in the eyes, actually in the eyes, not just in the direction of them, and Rumlow is once again taken aback by his intensity. It was always a lot to meet the Winter Soldier’s eyes, but now the experience is even harsher. Bucky seldom meets anyone’s eyes, and when he does it’s usually submissive, but like this, with his eyes open and no toying to be had, it’s almost hard to handle. Because that’s not the Winter Soldier, and it’s not Bucky as he is now— that’s the Bucky from the 40's, before he learned how to be properly afraid. 

“You’re right, that _was_ confidential,” Bucky says, unblinking. “And then I skullfucked the entirety of Hydra and Steve tore the Triskilian apart brick by brick. Now it’s not confidential. I say what I want.” 

They maintain eye contact for a few seconds more, waiting to see who’ll break first, and then Rumlow jerks and catches Bucky in a headlock. Bucky whines loudly, the omega in him coming out loud and proud, and Steve sighs loudly. “Children.”

Bucky tries to squirm out, but Rumlow doesn’t let him, and Bucky knows better than to hit him. Rumlow tightens his grip until Bucky can’t breathe, and then after a few drawn out seconds Bucky finally taps out. 

Rumlow releases him, and Bucky nuzzles his shoulder in apology. 

“You know, regardless of what that one researcher said, humans aren’t _actually_ descended from wolves,” Steve complains, and the others both ignore him. 

“ _I’m_ descended from wolves,” Bucky mumbles into Rumlow’s neck. He bites the collar of his shirt, just to prove his point.

“You’re not descended from wolves, you’re a wanna-be furry.”

“Ugh!”

They get off the plane, each with their carry-on slung over their shoulder, and Steve leads them to the baggage claim. All of the signs are in Spanish, though most have English subtitles underneath, so it’s not an issue. Rumlow speaks a tiny bit of Spanish from what he picked up from ops in South America and Spain, and he knows Bucky is fluent, the fucker, but to his knowledge Steve doesn’t know any. He can’t imagine it’ll be too much of an issue, especially since they’re going to a tourist hotspot. They won’t exactly be talking to the locals. 

While they wait for their bags, Steve stands with his arm around Bucky’s back, hand landing low on his hip, possessive. He manages to look calm, but Rumlow knows all three of them are scanning the environment, finding the exits and looking for threats. There’s tourists everywhere, some families, some elderly couples, some wearing sun hats indoors, some already sunburned. They had to go through another hallway to get outside, but Rumlow can already feel the fresh air, the air conditioner fighting against the thick humidity. Around them, the military is everywhere— some men, but lots of women, all wearing sharp navy suits with their hair pulled back professionally. 

“It looks like the aftermath of an incident,” Steve comments blandly. 

“It’s not,” Rumlow grunts out. “This is just how things are here. They have mandatory military service— well, it’s a little more complicated than that, but basically a lot of civilians go into the military for a year after they turn 18. You see them a lot in airports.”

Steve pulls Bucky closer to his side as someone passes by them, then loosens his grip back to normal. “Huh, now there’s an idea.”

Bucky visibly relaxes once he gets his suitcase, probably because that’s where he has all of his weapons stored, and then they head out to the shuttles. Steve navigates them into the one that’ll bring them to their resort, paying the driver and herding his partners inside. They end up in the front row, and are trundling along soon after. This time, Rumlow has the window seat, and Steve’s in the middle— a fact that Rumlow is very aware of, especially once Steve puts his arm around his shoulders, faux-casual. Rumlow’s wearing one of his many black t-shirts with the high neck, and he sits very still as Steve wriggles his fingers underneath, pulling his thin black collar out from inside it. 

“Cut it out,” Rumlow mutters, careful to keep his voice low. He leans away from Steve, tucking the collar back under. He tries to focus on the scenery out the window, but Steve isn’t done yet. 

“It’s going to be at least an hour ride, why don’t you rest?” He suggests in an all-too-generous voice. His fingers are on Rumlow’s neck again, slowly starting to massage it, and Rumlow shivers from the rush of happy beta hormones. He slaps Steve’s hand away harsher this time, giving him a dirty look, and scooting away. He doesn’t _want_ to rest— their position isn’t secure, and besides, he wants to look out the window. Steve can fuck off. 

Steve leaves him be, finally, and he focuses on looking out the window. They’re in a more rural part of the country, with farms and small houses and fruit stands. It’s not like the cities in Mexico he’s been to, but it also isn’t unfamiliar. It reminds him of parts of rural America, just slanted, the same ideas with different outcomes. They pass a gas station that looks just like a _Sinclair_ , but is labeled _Pemex_ instead, and Rumlow stares at it for so long he has to turn in his seat to look out the back windows. 

Meanwhile, Rumlow’s vaguely aware of Steve attempting to start up a conversation with the shuttle driver. After a few minutes of fumbling with the language barrier, Bucky steps in and translates, asking the driver questions about his job and his family. The man’s an alpha, something Rumlow could’ve figured out with a strong enough sniff, and he’s apparently got a lovely beta wife and three kids, one already out of the nest. Steve acts like the conversation is riveting, and takes the opportunity to ask increasingly personal questions, and share increasingly personal details. Rumlow is looking at Bucky by this point, so he gets to see him pointedly _not_ roll his eyes as he translates for the Alpha. “Somos la _tríada._ El grandulón a mi lado es Steve, nuestro _alfa_ , y junto a él es _Rumlito_ , nuestro _beta._ Soy un _omega,_ obviamente.”

The driver laughs, and Rumlow narrows his eyes at Bucky. “The fuck did you call me?”

Bucky shoots his a sideways smile, then perks up at the driver's response. He nods vigorously. “Sí, sí, Rumlito es un cielo. Lo amamos mucho, pero tiene un carácter fuerte, ¿pero qué puedes hacer? Por eso él necesita un alfa.”

The driver nods vehemently. “Así es esto. Lo mismo pasa con mi esposa; ella es muy temperamental. Sin embargo, no tengo problemas. Por eso necesitamos el amor.”

“Exactamente.”

Rumlow shakes his head, not wanting to hear any more. He can only pick out a few words, but from what he does get, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear the full translation. 

After around an hour, they get to the resort and find the check in desk. Steve checks them in while Bucky and Rumlow wander around, looking over the place. The building is large and open air, with a floor made of glass mosaic tiles and nature all around. There’s a fountain in the center of the room, sunk into the floor, and when they walk over to check it out they find koi fish swimming in the bottom tier. 

“Feels like a hallucination,” Bucky mutters. 

Rumlow pats him on the back sympathetically. “Steve really went all out, didn’t he.”

“It’s nice,” Bucky says, a little more dubious than the situation calls for. “Just… overwhelming.”

Steve calls them over then, and they go back to the welcome desk, where a preppy omega man is smiling politely. “I just need to give everyone a wristband so our staff knows that you’re paying guests, and that you’re all over 21 and can order alcohol. The wristbands are colored based on designation.”

Rumlow looks at the three wristbands on the desk dubiously. Steve gets his first, a dark blue one, and then after checking with him, Bucky does too, holding out his right wrist for the man to wrap the bright pink band around. There’s only one left then; a soft purple one, sitting all alone on the desk, waiting to be picked up. 

Rumlow stares at it. “That means beta?” 

“Yes sir,” the omega says cheerfully. “I can help you put it on if you will just hold out your wrist for me.”

Rumlow doesn’t hold out his wrist. He just keeps looking at the wristband, color-coded in a way that means that _everyone_ in the resort will know exactly what he is. He can pass as alpha, he knows that, especially when it’s just him and Bucky, and he’s in the right mood. But with the wristband… that wouldn’t be the case. Everyone would know. 

Rumlow wasn’t supposed to be a beta. He was born Alpha, and even though his hormones had been changed, his own version of the serum making his chemical castration work too well, he still didn’t have to like it. He felt things differently than he used to, wasn’t as tall, didn’t have such a strong tendency towards aggression… but he still grew up Alpha, and that had been a big deal. 

He’d been like this for well over a year. But it still felt like giving in to take the wristband and go yes, this is me, submissive and docile and knotless.

Steve nudges Rumlow, waiting for him to make a move, and Rumlow immediately stiffens. He’s not wearing that band.

Steve’s voice is quieter when he speaks, and Rumlow remembers that there are other people around. He thinks Steve’s scolding him, ordering him maybe, but it turns out Steve is actually talking to the Omega. “I’m sorry, but do you actually have gender-neutral wristbands? I think that would be more appropriate.”

The omega is clearly thrown for a loop, but he recovers quickly enough. “Oh— yes, I do, let me get that for you. Sorry for the misunderstanding—”

“Don’t worry about it, it was miscommunication on my part. That’ll be perfect, thank you.”

Rumlow is given a forest green band, which he much prefers anyway, and he holds out his wrist for it. Steve’s hand is on his back, rubbing affirmingly, and Rumlow both wants to lean into it and lean away from it. 

He looks at the green band. It’s not blue, but maybe it’ll do. 

They’re taken on a golf cart to their hotel then, and Rumlow is vaguely aware of the beautiful gardens on either side of the stone path, but mostly he’s focused on his green wristband, and Bucky’s thigh pressed against his. The three of them are crammed in the back of the golf cart, facing away from the driver, and Bucky speaks in quiet tones about how pretty everything is, how he’s curious about the dining package. “Everything’s included,” Steve says, too soft to be cocky. “Everything from the pools to the towels to drinks at the bars. They don’t even need a room number, just need to see your wristband and they’ll give you whatever you want.”

They get to their room, and everything is new and unique, but Rumlow can’t stand to pay attention to any of it. He sits on the edge of the king-sized bed, facing out to the balcony— they’re three floors up— and tries to make his brain _calm down._ He needs to do a security sweep. He needs to check for exit points. 

Steve’s Alpha-voice cuts through the fog. Unlike many other alphas, he doesn’t speak any louder than normal when using his alpha voice, but there is a certain edge of firmness to it, like a military commander who expects his orders to be respected without question. “Bucky, go downstairs and check with the concierge that our dinner reservations are in place. Brock, come here.”

Rumlow hikes up his shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut, but he doesn’t actually want to disobey the order. He makes himself stand and go to Steve, who is sitting on the other side of the bed, waiting for him. Their eyes meet, and Rumlow lowers his gaze. He hasn’t been a good Beta. 

“Hands behind you,” Steve hums, and then “Kneel.” Rumlow kneels between his splayed legs, wondering idly if Steve is going to have him blow him, but he doesn’t. He just has Rumlow kneel in between his legs, guiding him closer until his nose is less than an inch from Steve’s clothed crotch. Rumlow leans his head against Steve’s thigh, and lets out a slow breath through his nose as Steve cards his fingers through his hair. 

“You had a good morning,” Steve comments, “But I think traveling stressed you out. You got snappy, not only at me but at Bucky. I am sorry about the wristbands, though. I don’t always know where your mind is at, but I should’ve given you the option of a choice from the start.”

“I understand,” Rumlow whispers. His voice comes out harsh, cracked, and it makes him cringe. 

Steve keeps on massaging his hair, humming quietly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to have you stay here, in this position, for a little while longer. I don’t want you to worry about it; your job is just to relax and unwind. You had a stressful day, but now we get to calm down, get comfortable. We aren’t bound by a schedule. We’re on vacation. And while you do that, I’m going to keep petting you, and you’re going to use your words to tell me if you don’t like anything I’m doing, sounds good?”

Rumlow nods, and relaxes further into Steve’s hands as he massages his scalp gently. Like this, kneeling between his legs, he has little choice but to close his eyes and lean into it. He can feel Steve’s legs on either side of him, bracketing him in, but it’s not bad. He feels safe, covered. Contained. He can relax. 

At some point, Steve’s hands dip under the neck of his shirt and pull his collar out, unclasping it and setting it aside. Rumlow twitches, but doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t know why Steve took his collar away, and he doesn’t like it, but he’s pretty sure it’s okay. Steve isn’t punishing him, after all; he isn’t even mad. He just didn’t want the collar on right that second. That’s okay. Rumlow trusts him. 

Eventually, he hears Bucky return, but he just patters in quietly, not offering up much conversation besides confirming with Steve that the reservations went as planned. Rumlow lulls his head to the other side, and let’s his mind fall empty. 

He doesn’t know how much later it is that he starts regaining his grip on reality. Steve’s been rubbing his scalp for a while— and the nape of his neck, that sly fox— but Rumlow finds himself able to think again, wondering about security and dinner and bedtime. Steve lets him come back to the surface on his own, and then clasps his face in his hands, making him look up. “How do you feel?” He asks. 

Rumlow swallows. He hates talking about his feelings, but he knows it’s important. “Better.”

Steve gives him a long, assessing look, before pulling him up just enough to kiss him. They kiss long and slow for a few moments before pulling away, and then Steve is dragging him up onto the bed, letting him lay on his stomach while he sits halfway up. “Okay troop, here’s the lowdown. The time is currently 1800, and we have reservations at the main dining pavilion at 1830. You ready to get a move on?”

They both answer in the affirmative, though Steve lets Rumlow lay in his lap for a few more minutes. Finally, he clasps his collar back around his neck, and Rumlow touches it reverently, obscuring it back under his shirt. He feels more ready to move after that, and they manage to get out of the room at a decent time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translation:  
> Bucky: “Somos la tríada. El grande señor a mi lado es Steve, nuestro alfa, y junto a él es Rumlito, nuestro beta. Soy un omega, obviamente.” We’re a triad. The big guy next to me is Steve, our Alpha, and next to him is little Rumlow [if you add ‘ito’ to a word in Spanish it means ‘little’ or ‘cute’], our beta. I’m an omega, obviously. 
> 
> Bucky: “Sí, sí, Rumlito es un cielo. Lo amamos mucho, pero tiene un carácter fuerte, ¿pero qué puedes hacer? Por eso él necesita un alfa” Yes, yes little Rumlow is a sweetheart. We love him a lot, but he has a fiery temper, but what can you do? This is why he needs an Alpha.
> 
> Driver: ““Así es esto. Lo mismo pasa con mi esposa; ella es muy temperamental. Sin embargo, no tengo problemas. Por eso necesitamos el amor.” This is how it is. The same with my wife— she is very fiery. I am not without problems, however. This is why we need love.
> 
> Bucky: “Exactamente.” Exactly.
> 
> \----------------
> 
> In this chapter:  
> \- They got help up at security  
> \- Plane/shuttle ride (with fun xdriver conversations)  
> \- Rumlow had a metal freakout about the wristband and being a beta in general  
> \- Steve put him in his place
> 
> Dont worry, steve will "put him in his place" more explicitly later on ;)
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Obviously, this fic is more based on what sounds fun as opposed to a serious plot, so let me know if theres anything youd like to see! You want to see the boys doing a specific vacation activity? You want to see Bucky getting really excited over piña coladas? You want some fun jealousy kink? You know what to do ;)
> 
> Have a great day!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Chapter 2! Originally, I said that there would be 3 chapters to this story, but it looks like there should be at least one more than that. I know I do this with a lot of my stories, but I genuinely like giving people a general idea of how long a fic will be from the start :D
> 
> I had to rewrite the beginning of this chapter because it didn't feel like it fit well, but when editing I realized the first version actually was really good, despite not fitting right. So, once this story is done I will be posting that extra scene to this series, so look forward to that! It isn't a smut scene, but it certainly is spicy ;) 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Rumlow is the first to wake up, for once. Bucky is half rolled off the bed, but Steve is close enough that Rumlow can feel his hips against his leg. He rolls over, nuzzling up against Steve’s hair in a move that’s so Bucky-like it’s almost funny. “Steve. Hey, Steve.”

Steve groans, but is smiling as he blinks awake. “Hey there.”

“Early bird gets the worm,” Rumlow says pleasantly. “So is your worm ready, or…”

Steve groans again, this time throwing an arm over his eyes and reaching down to cup himself through his pajama pants. “Nope, sorry. My worm has retreated.”

“Wait, seriously?” Rumlow sits up on his elbow, sticking his hand down Steve’s pants. Steve slaps him away before he can get too good of a grip, but yeah, his dick was soft. “You always have morning woods.”

“I always have morning woods when my pack is doing well,” Steve corrects, voice still low from just having woken up. “I don’t usually get one when one of my bondmates is under a lot of stress. Besides, you didn’t even put in a plug last night.”

Rumlow frowns, clenching a little and realizing that Steve was right. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

On Rumlow’s other side, Bucky rolls over, making low humming noises. He wiggles right up against Rumlow, almost spooning him. Rumlow pats his bed head with a smile. “Hey, Omega. You trying to top me?”

“Not top you,” Bucky grumbles into the pillow. “Only cuddle.”

Steve rolls over so he’s facing Rumlow, and Rumlow looks away in self-defense, still too bedraggled to face the harsh reality of Steve’s baby blues 6 inches from his face. “C’mon Rumlow, cuddle him. Omegas need affection.”

“Omegas need to put in their place. Too much affection and they get codependent.”

Rumlow doesn’t even see him move, but a moment later he jerks from a sharp pinch to his thigh. “Traitor!” He accuses, while Steve cackles. 

“Okay, okay you two,” he says. “The day’s a-wasting. Go get your shower in so we can go to the beach already.”

“You’re not gonna shower?” Bucky says, voice higher pitched so it’s almost a whine. He sounds confused, but Rumlow already knows what game Steve’s playing; he’s done the same thing more times than he can count.

Steve grins. “And wash away all this alpha-scent, when we’re in a new environment, around all sorts of competition? Not a chance. Make sure to let me rub up against you before we go out; you too Brock, don’t think you’re getting away with it. Gender-neutral wristband or no, you’re still in a closed pack. I don’t want anyone thinking otherwise.”

Rumlow grumbles about it, but climbs over Steve to get out of bed, leaning down briefly to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m going to kill you in your sleep,” he mumbles, it coming out a lot sexier than he initially intended. 

Steve growls, all Alpha, and it sends an excited shiver down Rumlow’s spine. “I look forward to it.” 

  
  


————————————

  
  


In the shower, Rumlow and Bucky work as a perfect team, navigating their travel-sized soap bottles and each other’s bodies with the efficiency of not only bondmates, but squad-mates. It’s reminiscent of when they were in Hydra, helping each other clean up post-mission. While things are arguably much better now, Rumlow still finds himself feeling nostalgic. Back then, there was a lot of longing— bone-deep, skin-crawling longing for love and peace and safety, a longing he could never satiate. Because of course, back then, Bucky was in and out of cryo constantly. Rumlow spent most of his time managing the side effects of a broken scent bond, before the Soldier would thaw once more and they’d bond again. It was no way to live, and he knows that even though he didn’t acknowledge it back then, he was always yearning for something more. Something… like this. This life right here, with Bucky on his knees as he scrubs Rumlow’s legs with lavender soap, and Steve in the bedroom probably messing around on his phone, on vacation, bonded and safe and free— this was always the end goal. Even when he didn’t know it was an option. Even when he was still an Alpha. This, right here, right now, has always been where he was meant to be. 

Rumlow washes Bucky’s hair, and he tips his head back, looking up to the light fixture in the ceiling to keep the suds out of his eyes. He’s so beautifully posed that Rumlow can’t help himself from holding Bucky by the jaw and pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips barely brush against each other, hardly moving, but Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as if in the deepest pleasure. 

After the shower, they finish getting ready for the day, which involves Steve rubbing all over them, as advertised. Rumlow tries to keep a straight face as he does it, but then Steve starts really hamming up his actions, wiggling all over him and sticking his hands in Rumlow’s pants, and he has no choice but to crack a smile. 

Finally, they head out, walking to the breakfast buffet together. They’re all wearing their swim trunks and t-shirts, and Rumlow hangs back so he can make eyes at his partner’s asses. Bucky specifically is in a pair of shamefully short salmon-colored swim trunks, showing off the expanse of his tight, muscular thighs. He’s wearing a skin-toned sleeve over his metal arm too, which helps him pass as a civilian better. With Steve by his side, they look just like a normal, happy a/o couple. Rumlow feels a familiar pang in his chest— somewhere between jealousy, longing, and happiness. 

Steve glances back at him and raises an eyebrow, and Rumlow jogs a little to catch up with them. 

“Hanging back?” Steve asks. 

“Just appreciating the view,” Rumlow says, honest for once in his life. Steve takes his hand and squeezes it, and that’s that. 

At the buffet, they divide and conquer. Steve stays at the table and orders drinks while Rumlow leads Bucky around, helping him get his food. Bucky holds the plate as Rumlow dishes him up, making no complaints, but he does make a quiet whining noise when they pass the pastry section without slowing down. “Can’t I at least get a croissant?”

Rumlow just shakes his head, leading him away. “Sorry, you haven’t been cleared for dairy yet. It’ll happen soon, I promise. Next time we talk to the nutritionist we’ll ask about it, okay?”

Bucky whined a little, but accepted it. He was used to it, at this point. For the past year, they’d been working on his diet, first getting him off of protein shakes and similar supplements, and then getting him more accustomed to ‘normal person food’. Rumlow did most of the work, but eventually Steve insisted that they see the resident SPEAR nutritionist, who gave them an even more involved plan. Now, Bucky is doing pretty well with solid foods, but there’s still certain things, like whole milk and added sugar, he tries to stay away from. 

Rumlow gets him a pancake to make up for it. He can eat it with jam, and it’ll be enough of a treat to satiate him. 

“So guys,” Steve says, once they’re all sat down with food, “What do you want to do today? Our schedule is free until the evening.”

“Depends,” Rumlow says. “What is there to do?”

He has a few ideas, based solely off of what he’s seen just walking around the resort, but the way Steve’s eyes light up when he realizes he has valuable information is worth it. “Well, there’s the beach, and there’s also the pool. Apparently there’s supposed to be a lazy river too, we’ll have to figure out where it is. There’s also a gym somewhere around here, and I saw an activity board outside. They’ve got basically every activity and class you can think of, from Bingo to dance lessons.”

Bucky’s gaze sharpens at the part about dance lessons, looking at Steve almost dangerously. Rumlow snorts into his coffee; he’ll have to make sure he’s around to see that. 

“Going to the pool sounds nice,” Rumlow says, just to continue the stream of validation he has going for Steve. It’s a lot easier to be nice to him when he treats it like manipulation, instead of just being nice for the sake of it. “And maybe some of the activities too; we should look at the board.”

Steve beams. “Sounds good to me. Bucky?” 

“It all sounds pretty nice,” Bucky says, a slight twist to his smile. “I’m easy.”

Rumlow grins into his coffee. “Don’t worry, we know.” 

After breakfast, they go to the beach, which is huge, empty enough to find some chairs together, and alive with music. The music’s all in Spanish, but Rumlow can pick out enough keywords to get the vibe. The current song has a woman singing about dancing, living under the sun and feeling the sand beneath your feet. It’s a message Rumlow can get behind. 

They try to lounge like normal people, but then Steve walks over to the surf and kneels in the sand. Rumlow follows him, mostly out of curiosity, and finds him trying to fashion something out of the wet sand. 

Rumlow has a hard time keeping the disgust out of his voice when he realizes what’s going on. “Steven Grant Rogers, are you making a fucking sandcastle?”

Steve juts his chin out, refusing to be cowed. “ _Yes._ Are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there catching flies?”

Rumlow’s brain zips through a thought process of _no way am I building a sandcastle_ to _no way am I building a sandcastle with_ **_him_ ** to _no way am I letting him win._ “Fuck that,” he says, moving to a spot six feet away. “I’m building my own castle, and it’s going to be better than yours.” 

“Haha, real funny,” Steve says, matching his competitive energy instantly. “You forget who’s the artist here.”

“You forget who’s the infrastructure expert, asshole,” Rumlow challenges. “I’m trained in the art of finding a weak spot in a building and exploiting it. You’re only trained in throwing a _frisbee_.”

“Oh, you’re _on._ ”

The rest of the morning is spent building. They get various cocktails and drinks and use the cups like buckets to build up the sand. As time goes on, and both of their castles get more impressive, more and more kids flock to the area. Steve is nice to them, asking what they think about his castle’s design and gently herding the smaller ones away when they get too close to stepping on it, but Rumlow is a hardened man, and he’s in it to win it. He gets the kids crowded around his castle to gather in a huddle, and then sets them working for him, collecting more cups and dumping ocean water into a sandpit he's created. They scurry off, eager to help, and ten minutes later he’s increased his productivity by 50%. 

Of course, his Alpha is a big baby and a _cheat,_ which is made clear when not two minutes later he’s stolen Rumlow’s idea, and is getting his own little tribe of kids into motion. 

“He’s an asshole and a fraud,” Rumlow mumbles under his breath when he feels a familiar presence beside him. 

“Oh, without a doubt,” Bucky replies in turn, sounding very much like he doesn’t mind. “How long do you two plan on doing this?”

Rumlow gives him a dubious look. “You don’t ask a General how long a war will last. It ends when we win; what, do you have somewhere better to be?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky says emphatically. “It’s almost noon and both of you have been ignoring me all morning. I have two partners, I’m entitled.”

“You certainly are,” Rumlow grumbles, but his attention is quickly moving away from the sandcastle. Bucky is on his knees next to him, so it takes nearly no effort whatsoever to shove him over and crawl half on top of him, baring his teeth in a grin. “You want attention, Omega? All you had to do was--”

He stops abruptly when Bucky’s eyes go wide, and he looks sharply to his left. Rumlow sits back, and makes eye contact with the small boy who’s standing a few feet away, watching them with big eyes. “Uh,” the boy says, caught.

Rumlow recognizes him as part of the harem of children who've been helping him with his project. Regardless, he’s being a cockblock. “Do you need something?”

“Payment,” the boy says, visibly stealing himself. “This is unpaid labor. I have rights, you know.”

Rumlow narrows his eyes. The kid is probably just barely at the edge of double-digits, but he still stands strong, arms crossed. “Okay, kid,” Rumlow says, indulging him. “In exchange for your work, I’ll buy you a coke.”

“My name is _Nathan._ And all drinks are free at the snack bar,” the boy-- Nathan-- says, and okay, _touché._

Rumlow sits back even more, crossing his arms to mirror the petulant boy. Bucky is still half laying on the sand, waiting for the interaction to finish. “Fine, I’ll take you swimming in the ocean, then. I bet you’re too young to go in by yourself, right? But only if we win.” 

Nathan seems to find this acceptable, and gives one sharp nod before running off to rally the troops. Bucky sighs long-sufferingly. “You’re not going to win.”

“Shut your trap,” Rumlow snaps.

Bucky just rolls his eyes. “You’re not. Steve’s castle is already bigger, and it’s prettier than yours too. Just let him win so we can do something else.”

“Anyone ever tell you how goddamn needy you are?” Rumlow retorts, getting back on his knees to keep building. “And if you want this competition to end so badly, then end it: fuck up his castle.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, calculating. “Only if I get compensation in return.”

Rumlow cocks his head at him, considering. “Compensation?”

“Compensation,” Bucky agrees, looking down at his own tiny swim trunks suggestively. It may be ~mostly~ socially acceptable to act dominant towards one’s partner in public, but they both know better than to say the word “blowjob” out loud with so many kids around. 

Rumlow weighs his options, but if he’s being honest, he is getting tired. “It’s a deal.”

He moves to the other side of his castle on the pretense of fixing his moat, so he can better see Steve’s castle. Well… the term ‘fortress’ may be more accurate. It turns out knowing how to create things, like art, may actually be more useful when it comes to sand architecture than having a Ph. D. in blowing shit up. A shame. 

Bucky gets up and stumbles over to Steve’s castle. He starts saying something about how nice it looks, then comically trips and practically throws himself at the castle. Sand goes flying, and Bucky rolls to the side, effectively crushing the second and third guard towers under his genetically-enhanced ass. 

All around him, kids look stunned, frozen with cups of sand and little drink umbrellas in their hands. Steve was still kneeling, surrounded by the remains of what must have been his life’s work, going off of his devastated expression. Rumlow almost feels bad. 

Then Nathan shouts “Oh, no! Looks like beta won, and you _lost_ , mister! You _lost_ , and now it’s _over!_ ”

Steve’s eyes snap onto Rumlow so aggressively he stumbles backward, nearly crushing his own castle. Steve is up in a flash, and Rumlow barely has time to get to his knees to stumble away before 200 lbs of angry alpha is on him, throwing him over his shoulder and sprinting into the sea. Rumlow is tossed around too much to scream, but desperately he makes eye contact with the lifeguard still on the sand, hoping he’ll save him. “Help! Alpha on a rampage!”

The lifeguard-- some stupid looking teen-- waggles his fingers at him in what might be a wave, but is _definitely_ a mockery, and before Rumlow can do anything Steve chucks him into the sea. Rumlow closes his eyes just in time to be submerged, hearing the _WHOOSH_ of water all around him and feeling the chill of the ocean on his skin. He paddles to the surface, gasping, but he doesn't have time to catch his breath before he’s been thrust over Steve’s shoulder again, his head dangling only inches above the water. 

“Rumlooooow!” Steve bellows, and that’s the last warning Rumlow gets before being dunked again. 

Five minutes later, he trudges back up the beach, soaking wet and feeling very much like a drowned kitten. Steve walks a few feet ahead of him, shoulders back and perfect blond waves not even wet. 

Bucky is sitting right on the edge of the surf, sipping from a drink as the ocean laps at his calves. “Well, that was mean. Bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”

“I was well within my rights,” Steve says primly, plopping down next to him and wrapping his arm around his waist. “Don’t you think, Rumlow?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Rumlow starts walking away, and Steve calls out asking if he wants to go get lunch. “In a minute!” Rumlow yells back. “I have debts to pay first.”

Over by his sandcastle, a cluster of kids work to repair the damage it received. Standing next to them was a short boy with light brown hair and freckles: Nathan. “We had a deal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Come on.”

They walk out into the ocean, and Nathan doggy paddles when it gets too deep for him to touch. He has lots of opinions, including “yuck” “the water tastes so gross”, and “what the frick just touched my foot”, but overall he seems delighted. 

When they get back, Nathan thanks him and runs off. Rumlow is ready to go back to his partners, but before he can a short woman in a floppy hat storms over to him. “And just what do you think you are doing?”

Rumlow takes a step back, looking her up and down. He’s wet, tired, and covered in sand. “Huh?”

The woman jerks her thumb in the direction Nathan went running. “That little boy is my son, and he’s an omega. What you just did there was entirely inappropriate--”

“Woah, woah there,” Rumlow says, holding his hands out. “Nathan’s an omega? What is he, 11?”

“10,” the boy’s mother corrects, lower lip wobbling slightly. “He was an early bloomer, presented three months ago. It is entirely inappropriate for him to be in such close contact with an adult Alpha!”

“Hey, I’m not an Alpha,” Rumlow says immediately, ignoring the slight discomfort those words always cause. “I’m a beta; seriously, give me a sniff.”

The woman seems dubious, but her nostrils flare as she scents him. “You don’t smell like an Alpha,” she admits. “But you look--”

“Is there a problem here?”

The woman has to push the front of her floppy hat back to get a good look at Steve, who slides into place beside Rumlow, arm around his waist. Rumlow knows he still looks like an Alpha to most people-- decades of army/Hydra/SHIELD combat training will do that to a person-- but Steve tends to dwarf him. It’s hard to claim to be an Alpha with a guy like that rubbing possessive pheromones all over you. 

The woman purses her lips but ends up shaking her head. “No, I think... I think there was a misunderstanding. You two have a good day.” 

“You too,” Rumlow says, frowning as she walks away.

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


Lunch is served buffet-style, like breakfast, but in a much bigger dining hall. There’s white fabric and flowers on every table, and the room they go into to get their food is even bigger than the one this morning. The choices are extensive, though the pizza bar, salad bar, and burger bar make it clear exactly who their target audience is. 

After lunch, they walk back to the hotel to nap. Rumlow normally doesn’t nap, but it’s exhausting being at the resort. They’re in a new environment, for one, with all new threats to calculate, and the constant sun and long walks to get from place to place certainly don’t help. It’s a relief to get back to the air-conditioned hotel room.

Bucky goes straight for the bed, while Steve jerks his head for Rumlow to follow him to the balcony. He closes the sliding glass door behind him and sits in the little plastic chair beside Steve. 

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, giving Rumlow his signature worried eyebrows. 

Rumlow snorts and tries to figure out the least exhausting way to get out of this situation. He’s always been a big fan of the ‘bottle up all emotions until there’s something to kill’ approach to life, but he is actually capable of sharing his feelings, when pressured enough. 

So he lets out a sigh, girds his loins, and says “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… shockingly okay, actually.”

“Yeah?” Steve says. He doesn’t seem to _not_ believe him, but his expression is dubious at best. “What was the deal with that… woman, earlier? At the beach.”

Rumlow shrugged one shoulder, then rolled it when it came back stiff. He’d gotten surgery on that shoulder once before, after getting hurt on an op, and sometimes it still got sore. “You know that little kid who was hanging around, with the freckles? Well, he asked me to swim with him, after the sandcastle was done. Apparently, he’s an Omega, and his mom thought that I was an Alpha, and she wasn’t a fan of me taking her son anywhere, even the ocean. Whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

Steve crosses his arms, nodding slowly. “I know what kid you’re talking about. He’s an Omega? He looks too young.”

“He is too young,” Rumlow agrees. “Only 10, guess he presented early. It’s no surprise his mom’s protective. Hell, I’d do just the same thing if I thought I saw a random Alpha walk off with my omega kid, except I’d probably be a lot less diplomatic about it.” He looks up, and sees that Steve’s smiling to himself. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says quickly, moving on before Rumlow can question it further. “And, what about yesterday? The airport…”

“I was stressed,” Rumlow admits, voice going a little higher in pitch. He tries to correct it, before remembering who he was talking to. Steve doesn’t give a shit if he is… macho, or some shit. Steve likes him as is, beta and all. “And… I’m sorry. I was rude, I didn’t communicate as well as I should’ve.”

Steve snorts. “Communication is a two-way street, pal. I’m your Alpha, I should be watching for these things. I shouldn’t push you when you’re already not having a good time.”

“You did fine,” Rumlow says, waving his hand like he could brush aside Steve’s doubt. “We’re getting better at reading each other’s signals; Hell, we’re already a lot better at it than when we started. It’s a learning curve, or whatever.” Steve is giving him that smile again, and this time Rumlow audibly sighs. “What?” 

“Come here,” Steve says, gesturing for him. Rumlow rolls his eyes but gets up, walking over to Steve’s chair. He complains more vocally when Steve tells him what to do, but Steve smacks him playfully on the leg, eyes practically sparkling in the afternoon night. “Come on, Beta, get over here. No one's even around to see, you’re fine.” 

Rumlow climbs on Steve’s lap, facing him. His legs have to go over the plastic armrests, and surely the chair wasn’t made to support two large pseudo-super-soldiers, but it holds. It holds, and Steve wraps his arms around Rumlow’s waist, tucking his nose against his neck, and Rumlow thinks _I wouldn’t hate for others to see this._ He hates public acts of submission, or at least that’s what he tells Steve, but really… this isn’t all that bad. Rumlow thinks of Steve throwing him over his shoulder at the beach; Steve putting an arm around him possessively; Steve pulling Rumlow’s chair closer when they sit to eat at lunch. He thinks about his fantasy of Steve making him kneel at the airport, thinks of how it made his cheeks heat up. Arousal and humiliation, that’s what that feeling was. Rumlow doesn’t know what to do with this part of himself, this part that _wants_ , so desperately, all the time. He doesn’t know if he should tell Steve about it. Well, no, that’s a lie, he knows he should tell Steve, just doesn’t know how he can say it with a straight face. Doesn’t know how he can exist with this secret… not being a secret anymore.

He doesn’t know how he can just… let himself be known. How he can throw his shame away as if it was never there to begin with, start anew with every part of himself fully revealed to everyone who will dare look. 

Steve pulls back then, keeping his arms around Rumlow as he looks up at him. “Should I be worried about that?”

Rumlow has to work to swallow. He's trained in keeping a straight face, but sometimes Steve can still read him too well. “About what?”

Steve traces a hand along Rumlow’s cheek and down his neck, brushing over his scent gland. “That. You smell like… I don’t know. Not quite distressed, but…”

“I’m fine,” Rumlow says, and he really, really isn’t lying. He’s sitting on his Alpha’s lap, and in the past year he’s been happier than he’s been for a long, long time. He can figure out his feelings about gender and humiliation and existence later. For right now, he has his Alpha, and his Omega in the other room, and there’s nowhere else he needs to be.

Steve closes his eyes and hums appreciatively, pushing Rumlow back into an arch with how much he’s pushing his nose against his neck. “Mmm, yeah, there it is. Happy wife, happy life.”

Rumlow is so surprised he snorts, loud and ugly, and Steve looks at him like he’s the most perfect thing on the planet. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say. Keep sniffing me, why don’t you? It doesn’t make you look like a loser at all.”

“I don’t feel like a loser,” Steve objects, “I’ve got a real handsome Beta on my lap. I’m pretty sure that’s the exact opposite of los--”

Rumlow kisses him, mostly just to shut him up. He seems surprised, but melts into it quickly enough. They keep kissing though, which Rumlow wasn’t exactly expecting, but he’s definitely not angry about. Soon enough, Steve picks him up, legs around his waist, and pressed him against the wall, holding him there like he’s nothing, and they keep kissing, lazy afternoon kisses, humid kisses, sleepy kisses, and Rumlow has to say “I want to take a nap sometime this month” because he feels almost like Steve is never going to stop, and even worse, like he won’t either. 

Steve laughs against his mouth. “Yeah, okay. Should probably stop anyways, before one of us gets hard.” 

“A little late for that,” Rumlow grumbles, and Steve laughs again. He gets a better grip on Rumlow’s thighs and pulls him away from the wall, walking back into the room still carrying him. Bucky’s already asleep on top of the sheets, and Steve deposits Rumlow beside him before climbing in after him. 

Rumlow and Bucky are sharing a pillow, so close Rumlow can smell his hair. Steve cuddles right up behind Rumlow, close enough that Rumlow can feel his stiffy against his own clothed ass. They’re all sweaty and salty and gross, and there isn’t a single thing about the situation that doesn’t feel illicit, and Rumlow wouldn’t change a fucking thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In This Chapter:  
> -showering and possessive Alpha Steve  
> -breakfast (and Bucky's food restrictions)  
> -sandcastle building (to the death)  
> -Rumlow's subsequent drowning  
> -Nathan!  
> -Naptime chatting with Steve 
> 
> Please comment what you thought of the chapter! I have high aspirations for the posting date of Ch3, so get your comments out quickly ;)


End file.
